Chapter 2

Every Wednesday, Richard had to report to his parole officer.

Three years ago, he took the fall for the Family and was sentenced to five years. Now he was out on parole.

Half an hour after Richard left, the man who had adopted me, Paul, pushed open the hospital door and walked in.

Three years ago, Paul sold the dock’s shipment schedule to the Miller Family. Richard kicked him out after that.

In the novel, it said he would come looking for me. For his younger son, Richard’s half-brother, who supposedly had leukemia.

But that was nothing more than an excuse to ask for money.

I slipped the gun Richard had left for me under my pillow and sat up.

“Richard isn’t here,” I said coldly.

Paul stood beside the bed, unimpressed. “I’m not here for him. I’m here for you. Your brother’s sick. I need money.”

My hand moved instinctively under the blanket, pressing deeper toward the pillow. “Why would I have money?”

“You would if you wanted to.” Paul licked his lips. “Marry Frank Ricci. He’s willing to pay thirty thousand dollars.”

Frank Ricci. I knew the name.

He was affiliated with the Miller Family, the enemy of the Corleone Family, and ran several underground casinos.

But why would he want to marry me?

That wasn’t part of the story.

“What does he want?” I asked.

“Your name.” Paul lowered his voice. “The Corleone reputation. His brother-in-law has connections in the justice system. If you marry him, Richard’s parole can be lifted.”

I stared at him without speaking.

Seeing that I didn’t trust him, Paul shrugged.

“The parole officer’s already been bought by the Miller Family. One more violation and Richard goes straight back to prison.”

He pulled out a photograph. “Frank can fix it. This is the deal.”

“Once I get the money, I won’t come looking for you again.”

In the photo, Richard’s parole officer was clinking glasses with the Miller Family’s Under Boss.

My heart sank. When I looked back at the picture, my eyes were ice cold.

This was the only chance I had to change the ending.

Now it was my turn to save Richard.

“Take me to him,” I said. “Now.”

Frank was sitting on a couch in the farthest corner of a pool hall.

“Matilda Corleone,” he said, his voice rough, like sandpaper scraping over wood. “Sit.”

I didn’t move. “The documents.”

He grinned, revealing teeth yellowed by years of cigarettes, and slid a memo across the table. Inside, it read: Richard Corleone—Parole Status: High Risk. Recommendation: Revocation.

“My brother-in-law transfers to the parole office on Friday,” Frank said. “You marry me tomorrow night, and by Monday Richard’s file will be clean.”

“Tomorrow?” I clenched the document in my hands.

Frank watched me closely, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Saint Paul’s Church. Eight o’clock. Make sure Richard believes you’re doing this willingly. I’d hate for him to come looking for trouble later.”

I looked at the twisted scar across Frank’s face and swallowed down the nausea rising in my throat.

“Fix the file first. Until I see the new parole officer in charge, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

On the drive back, Paul kept wiping sweat from his forehead.

“You’ll go through with it, right?”

I ignored him.

Instead, I pulled out Richard’s spare phone and sent Stella a message.

[I’m getting discharged tomorrow night. Keep Richard at the old house. Don’t let him find out about me.]

Stella replied almost instantly.

[Understood.]

Back in my hospital room, I leaned against the door and listened to my heartbeat.

It was racing, so fast it felt like it might burst out of my chest.

I slid down onto the floor and stared out the window as the sky slowly darkened.

Tomorrow night at eight, everything would change.

I was going to rewrite the ending for both Richard and me.